With the source of undeath gone from the temple, tforest seemed to breathe a sigh of releave in Eswarth's ear. His companions slept soundly, though Charon seemed to be a bit restless, though not necessarily in a distressing way. He seemed to be enjoying his dreams.

The arrival of Balorie (like in Bertinelli...I've had a thing for her ever since One Day at a Time...hmmmm..) was heralded by a sound like wood sliding across the grain of another piece of wood. Slowly her slender frame stepped out of the trunk of a nearby Knuckleroot.

"The ancient ones sing your praise sheppard," She said to Eswarth, her voice the sound of dry leaves in a soft wind. "You bring credit to your name and honor to your people. This place will ever welcome and shelter you and your flock."

Eswarth considered Ballorie's words for only a moment. "Alas," he began, "I cannot know our intentions ere I speak upon it with the youngling." He said. "As I say: I'll speak with him on it upon his awakening; I trust that you will in some aspect be present and know our thinking?"

Of course, Eswarth would prefer to be able to answer promptly, but he was nearly entirely in the dark as regards these half-twisted shadows.

As the nymph departed, melting into the forest, Eswarth fancied that he could feel just above the threshold of his perception a cool breeze that was light and woody. Her words brought him great comfort.

He considered awakening the others to relay to them the conversation that he had shared with her, but that would undo, he thought, her parting blessing: a night of peace.

Charon stirred in his sleep. A slight whimper escaped his lips. Fear? Pleasure? It would be unclear even if anyone was awake to hear it. He curled into a slight fetal position, clutching Collinsworth to his chest like a teddy bear. A slight smile crossed his lips.